


Milagros

by AndromedaPrime



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Background Driftrod and Driftrod beb, Being an atheist and getting knocked up by a god is a total power move, M/M, Mech Preg, Screw canon - everyone is alive and happy with babies, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-15 10:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Ratchet was pretty content with his view of the universe. Getting knocked up by the ship's psychologist served to upend his entire world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This ship has been one of my super low-low-key favorites for a while. The Primus-Rung reveal only served to make me ship this even harder, so of course, mechpreg happened. Kind of ties a little bit with my ongoing DriftRod fic titled "You, Me, and a Mini-Me" in that Drift and Rodimus are bonded here and have their own sparkling, a bitty named Wing.
> 
> The forthcoming second chapter will have the birth and a few sparkling scenes, because sparklings are blessed content. With those warnings in mind, I hope you enjoy this offering~

The slick slide of the therapist’s spike into his valve was always divine, as were the soft weight of Rung’s servos on his hips as he pistoned back and forth.

He moaned quietly and arched his pelvis into Rung’s ministrations, his optics dimmed as he looked down the length of his frame at the orange mech. Somehow he always forgot how spark-stoppingly beautiful Rung was without the goggles affixed to his face. He reached down and took Rung’s chin into a servo, pulling the other mech a little further up so he could kiss him.

Rung nibbled at his lower lipplate when they pulled apart, and Ratchet took a little bit of pleasure in the way that the therapist gasped when he rippled the calipers of his valve. He smirked and his vents blasted a bit of hot air in the smaller mech’s face.

“You know how much I love that,” Rung murmured into the air, rolling his slim hips up to press their arrays together. He stroked his digits over Ratchet’s exhausted faceplates, and the medic leaned into the touch. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Ratchet had to give a snort. “I think you’re just flattering me at this point.”

The therapist raised a digit and lightly tapped the point of Ratchet’s nose, smiling as he slowed his tempo, languidly thrusting. The slow pace admittedly made Ratchet a little crankier, and he yanked the smaller mech a little more forward as he tried to entice Rung to go a little faster.

Pleasure bloomed across his neural net, and he pressed his lipplates to Rung’s again, needing more, needing to feel the little therapist much closer. Rung gasped and moved one of his servos to grasp at the back of Ratchet’s helm, pressing their faceplates closer together as they moaned, and oh how it felt so divine, as if they had been made for one another.

Rung did something with his hips that had Ratchet pulling from their kiss abruptly and tossing his helm back. The other mech was by no means the biggest partner he’d ever had, but what he lacked in size and strength he more than made up for it in an infectious passion that made its way over to the medic. 

“Oh,” Ratchet said softly, gasping as he rolled his hips in tandem. Rung was able to rub against some of the nodes further seated back in his valve, and it made little stars burst into his visual field. Faintly he was aware of Rung’s spike swelling a little bit more, a sign that he was close to overloading. Goading the other mech on, Ratchet rippled the calipers of his spike, and brought himself closer to Rung and nipped at the little antennae on his helm.

That seemed to do the trick, as Rung gasped and his optics brightened. When the surge of transfluid hit the nodes at the back of his valve, Ratchet felt himself tip over the edge and he bit down on some part of the therapist as he rolled his hips and tilted them up, trying to keep as much of the transfluid and his lubricants in as he could.

Eventually, Ratchet came down from his high, and he opened optics he’d not noticed he closed to look at Rung’s pretty optics looking down at him.

“If you could see your faceplates when you overload,” Rung said, using the tip of one of his digits to draw little circles and other patterns on the glass pane of his chassis, “you would know that I’m not just flattering you, as you said.”

Ratchet felt heat rise to his faceplates and he tried not to scoff, but failed. He laid back down on the berth, backstruts to the surface, and pulled Rung down with him. “Just shut it and merge with me.”

Rung laughed and bared his spark, brilliant, shining luminously.

Baring his own, Ratchet pressed their chassis plates flush to one another and lost himself in the sensations.

.-.-.

He’d run these tests six times already and they continued giving him the same exact answer, which he was having a very hard time understanding.

Both he and Rung were ancient even by the standards set by Cybertronians. His reproductive systems had long been rendered inert, or so the last tests he remembered running had said, and Rung was more than certain that he was the same as well. 

The very luminous point of light that was smack in the center of his gestation tank made fools of them both.

Ratchet kept looking at the scan, having to blink his optics and clear them over and over again just to make sure that it wasn’t some sort of defect with his vision. But again, for the seventh time, the test came back with the exact same results, and now he had to actually accept what he had thought was an impossibility.

He was carrying.

It most definitely made sense. He had been grappling with faint sickness, bouts here and there of nausea, overall tiredness that permeated his waking hours. He placed a servo over the center of his abdomen, trying to think of any thoughts further than “how?”

He needed to tell Rung. Rung needed to know that they had done an impossible feat for their old frames, and had created new life. Rung needed to know that he was going to be a sire.

The thought of telling the therapist gave him a feeling of something that felt like fear and anxiety mixed into one unpleasant concoction. Ratchet closed his optics and shook his helm, sighing in frustration. How would he even begin to broach the topic? Would he simply walk into Rung’s quarters or his office, sit down, look the little orange mech in his stupidly beautiful optics, and say, “You put a bitlet in me, damn you”?

And then, almost as if the universe itself was answering his question, Rung peeked into the medical ward. The sudden appearance of the smaller mech startled Ratchet and he tried to do his best to look as innocent as possible as he deleted the results of the seven exams off the datapad in his servos.

“You’re a little late,” Rung said softly as he edged his way in and closed the door behind them. “Are you okay?”

_ How can I be okay when I’m sparked and thought that I wouldn’t get a bitlet put in me.  _ For a moment Ratchet thought that he might lie and tell Rung that everything was just fine, but there was no use in lying to a professional truth-sniffer. His silence evidently spoke for him, as Rung’s expression grew even more worried, and he placed a servo on Ratchet’s arm.

“Is everything okay, my love?”

Ah, there it was. Those two words that could melt Ratchet’s spark. He sighed and cursed himself and the small mech in front of him. Frag it - he may as well.

“I’m sparked. You sparked me up.”

There was a long moment of silence that fell over them, after which Rung removed his lenses and blinked his blue optics at Ratchet, and the medic sighed. Before he could speak, however, Rung beat him to it.

“I apologize, I want to make sure I heard correctly. You are sparked? As in carrying?”

“The terms are interchangeable.” He paused and then added, “And yeah, it’s yours, in case you were thinking of asking.”

He saw the many questions percolating through Rung’s processor, so he decided that it would be best if he addressed them. “I don’t know how this happened. I was pretty fragging sure I wouldn’t be able to get sparked.”

For the second time that solar cycle, it hit him that he was sparked, carrying a brand new Cybertronian in the confines of his frame, and it made his processor spin a little bit. He felt his knee joints buckle, and he had to sit on the nearest medical berth before he could fall to the floor.

There was a long period of silence, and Rung joined him on the berth, sitting a small distance from him. Ratchet found himself unable to look the therapist in the optics for now as he reversed the deletion of the test results and gave the datapad to Rung. The orange mech took the datapad into his servos and furrowed his optic ridges as he took in the results.

He heard Rung’s intakes hitch, and the therapist give a soft and quiet, “Oh.”

Confusing and conflicting emotions roiled through Ratchet’s processor and he placed his helm in his servos, sighing as he tried not to imagine that the mech next to him would have an adverse reaction to this news. This was Rung - above all a kind and helpful being, and it would have been hard to imagine that he would have not taken this news well.

Of course, one could never exactly know another. 

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer and forced his spark to calm down, for it was behaving and pulsing erratically in an anxious manner. “Say something.”

“What is it that you would like me to say?”

Oh fraggit. “Say something. I don’t fragging know. How do you feel about this? I kept tryin’ to see if I got a different reading but they’re all the same, so I’ve got a bitlet put in me.” His servo twitched and he covered his middle with it again. “So what do you think or feel about this whole thing?”

Ever composed (frag him and his therapist training, Ratchet thought), Rung set the datapad down between them and reached over, placing a servo on the medic’s thigh. “My feelings are secondary to yours, as you are the one that is in this… condition. How do you feel?”

Truthfully? Ratchet didn’t know. And he let Rung know that by sighing again and still averting meeting the other mech’s gaze. 

Then the question came, the one that he knew Rung would ask. “Do you want to keep the sparkling?”

Ratchet paused for a moment, and found that he already knew the answer to that question. This time, he did look up and meet Rung’s gaze and he sighed heavily and nodded. “I want to keep the bitlet.” 

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, fraggit, I said I want to.” Ratchet regretted the semi-harsh tone of voice he’d taken on and then sighed again, placing his servo on the servo that the therapist had placed on his thigh. “Sorry. Still trying to process this. This wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“And now my question to you is,” Rung replied, “as you want to keep the sparkling, would you still want me to be involved in your life?”

Ratchet wanted to snort and ask what kind of question that was, because  _ of course _ he wanted Rung to still be there and involved. The war had done a number on his personality, as with everyone else, but he was not someone to want to keep a sparkling from the other creator. He replied, “Yes. I’m not gonna keep our sparklin’ from you. I don’t even wanna keep myself from you, so don’t go there.”

He would only admit it under severe prodding, but the sight of Rung smiling, almost beaming at his words, made him about as happy. The medic then felt his spark leap a little bit when the orange mech scooted closer to him and gently wrapped his arms around his middle, pressing the side of his helm against his chassis. 

“You know,” Ratchet had to say after a little while of this, clearing his vocalizer, “the bitlet’s not there. It’s just my spark.”

“I’m aware. But, it is the spark that our offspring kindled off of.”

Ratchet felt his faceplates heat up in some sort of emotion that he couldn’t quite describe. The closest he could get was… relief and happiness, some combination of the both. Relief that Rung seemed as keen on keeping the bitlet as he was, that it didn’t look like the little therapist would ask him to make a choice.

If a choice had needed to be made, he realized, he would have chosen the bitlet.

And, as he thought about the small little spark skipping contentedly in his gestation chamber, he found himself able to smile.

They would get through this. It might not have been the path that he’d thought his life cycle would take, but he would get through it.

.-.-.

Primus above.

Primus below.

Primus here and now.

Rung was still struggling with the recent revelations, which - how had he  _ never  _ noticed? His uncanny ability to survive life-or-death situations should have been a first clue. 

Yet he had just blown it all off, paid no mind to it - life was strange and other things demanded priority on his attention. Shaking his helm, he walked into the quarters he shared with the medic - the first time he was seeing the other mech alone, away from everyone else.

...his mere existence proved to upend everything that Ratchet grumbled about, everything that he refused to believe. All the times he’d been present when Ratchet had muttered about how Primus wasn’t giving him much to believe in…

Rung stood in the entryway, looking at the medic’s backplates that were to him as Ratchet seemed very intent on facing the suddenly-interesting wall. The therapist cleared his vocalizer, and shuffled his pedes where he stood, but before he could say anything, Ratchet piped up, his voice groggy and grumbling.

“How the frag did you not know?”

Oh, how Rung was berating himself for not knowing an answer to that question. He cleared his vocalizer once more and sighed. “I simply did not. And I would apologize, but… in this instance, I don’t feel I have anything to apologize for.”

Ratchet said nothing, and after a klik of solid, tense silence, Rung asked, “Would you like me to leave?”

Ratchet didn’t turn over to face him, but he curled further into himself. “No. Please, just, stay. I just… I can’t fragging look at you right now.”

That was fair, Rung reasoned. He walked over to the berth, feeling some sort of trepidation that shouldn’t have been there - it wasn’t as if Ratchet was armed with anything other than his supply of wrenches he kept in his subspace and his usual grump and snark. And, as was now very clear, he as Primus had little to fear.

He jostled the berth padding when he sat down, going still and making sure that Ratchet wasn’t bothered before he moved and laid down next to the other mech, his front to Ratchet’s backplates. He would have gladly moved away if Ratchet asked him to, or if the other mech’s body language would have suggested hostility, but there was nothing that Ratchet displayed or said that would have given him the indication, so he continued to lay there.

Some time passed them by, and then Ratchet cleared his vocalizer. “When they revealed it, that you’re actually Primus, things started making a lot of sense. All the times you shoulda fraggin’ died. How I’m carrying this bitlet in the first place.”

“With your staunch view on your beliefs, I’m quite frankly a little bit confused as to how… well you are taking this. And I expected a harsher rebuttal to the idea.”

“My tests told me I was inert. Couldn’t conceive a bitlet. Told me that multiple times, and yet you sparked me up. I’m carrying a healthy bitlet and there’s no problems so far with this whole thing.” Ratchet curled into himself even further. “That was what made me believe. So frag you.”

Rung smiled, knowing full well in his spark that there was little, if any, malice behind the medic’s curse. Clearing his vocalizer and leaning in towards the closest of Ratchet’s audio receptors, he kissed the plating just above it before replying, “My status as Primus, the creator of everything we know, does not change what I feel for you, and my devotion to you and the sparkling we created.”

The emotions in Ratchet’s electromagnetic field changed from attempting to be standoffish to acceptance. He heard the medic give a soft vent of his intakes.

Finally, Ratchet rolled onto his backplating and sighed, facing the ceiling - but Rung was able to see his faceplates at least, and that was what he wanted most, to see his sparkmate’s beautiful visage. His gaze trailed down to the faint curve forming on the medic’s middle, and he reached out and splayed his servo on the bump.

He felt the sparkling jolt a little bit under his touch and he curled into Ratchet’s side.

Ratchet made a displeased noise, but he knew well enough that it was all for show - the carrying mech’s electromagnetic field betrayed him and when Rung reached out and mingled his own field with it, found a sort of contentment within. 

“Bit’s kicking a fuss,” Ratchet said, breaking the few kliks of silence that had passed between them. Rung smiled at the sparkling’s actions. “She knows you’re there.”

“She?”

“Yeah. Had First Aid take a look to make sure I wasn’t being screwed with. We got a little femme.”

Rung beamed and then kissed the swell of his mate’s belly. They were having an adorable little femme. The thought of a small and perfect little femme being cradled in her grumpy carrier’s arms warmed his spark. “I hope she looks like you.”

Ratchet snorted and then let out a laugh. “With my luck, she’s going to come out looking all like you, you fragger.”

“Why do you figure that might be the case?”

“We frag a couple of times, don’t use protection ‘cause we figure we’re old bots and my tank didn’t work last time I tested it. Get sparked. I was a nonbeliever and I happened to shack up with you, fraggin’ Primus of all mechs and femmes and deities that might exist. Odds aren’t in my favor.”

Nodding, Rung had to give Ratchet those points. The sparkling kicked and Rung ran the flat of his palm over where she had stuck her pede. “Be nice to your carrier, little bitlet,” he said in the gentlest and most admonishing tone he could muster. “He’s having a hard time processing all these events as of late.”

His sparkmate made another noise, one of defeat. Rung laughed quietly and leaned up, kissing the medic on his lipplates.

And again his electromagnetic field betrayed the carrying mech’s true feelings, as there was something a little bit warm and a bit of acceptance infused in the static.

.-.-.

“So we’ve got Primus aboard this ship, and now there’s going to be a whole new god added to this pantheon. What the frag, life can’t get any weirder than this,” Rodimus tossed the cube over his shoulder strut and laid his pedes on top of Drift’s lap. “Looks like you’ve got a new god to worship, twink.”

“I knew you believed but I didn’t know you were  _ that _ devout,” Drift said, the smirk in his optics instead of his faceplates. 

Rodimus sputtered and shook his helm. “I-I was talking to you.”

“You mentioned a twink, you know I’m a twunk.”

_ “But I’m the twunk!” _

Ratchet watched from across the table as Drift laid a servo on the other mech’s leg, effectively calming him, before turning to him. “I’m sorry about that. Where were we again?”

The medic grunted and stared forlornly down at his cube of energon that was mixed in with other nutritives. “I was tellin’ you about how I’m sparked up with Primus’s offspring.”

Drift narrowed his optics and fixed his optics somewhere just above Ratchet’s helm, undoubtedly trying to get a feel for his aura. Ratchet wasn’t into anything of that nature that Drift was always proselytizing about, wiping it all away as just something he clung to for comfort but that was in direct opposition to the beliefs he held - which frankly, had been none.

Of course, this was all in a time where he wasn’t having his intakes get kicked by aforementioned offspring. He grimaced and put a servo to his side, where the bitlet had settled and was sticking her pedes.

“I gotta say that it’s weird that you’re sparked, all round and heavy,” Rodimus said, prompting Ratchet to look his way in time to see his captain hold his arms out in front of him and curve them slightly inward, as if carrying a heavy load. “Drift loved carrying our little Wingy. How’s it been going for you?”

“Gettin’ my internals demolished by my sparkling and having everything I believed about the universe disproven by my sparkmate. It’s not fun.”

Drift, apparently now done reading his aura, smiled sweetly at him and looked over at Rodimus for a moment, both younger mechs holding a conversation with just their optics before turning his attention back to him. “Do you have any names in processor yet? I need to know the name of the new god being added to the pantheon.”

Of all the questions a first-time creator could hear, Ratchet was willing to bet his medical license and his favorite wrench that no one else had ever been asked that. Bristling, he near-snapped, “No. And I’m not telling you before I tell my sparkmate.”

Drift held his servos up. “I wasn’t meaning to intrude.”

Almost as if in admonishment the bitlet kicked him. Amazing. He was being chastised by his own offspring. Ratchet sighed. “Sorry. I’m a little testy as of late.”

“Maybe you need a good romp with Rung-”

“Rodimus!” Drift near-exclaimed, jabbing his sparkmate in his middle with his elbow. Rodimus grunted and pouted as Drift said, “That’s not something you should say to anybot, especially the carrier of Primus’s sparkling.”

Carrier of Primus’s sparkling. Of course. Drift would afford him more respect now, but it was only due to the fact that the bitlet he carried would be part of his belief system.

“It’s a little weird, all of this,” Ratchet said gruffly. “Didn’t think I could get sparked.”

“It was only a miracle of Primus’s doing,” Drift winked at him and how Ratchet almost threw the rest of the energon in his cube at the swordsmech. “Carrying Wing was the best experience I went through. Holding her in my arms was the best moment of my lifecycle, and I think you’ll feel the exact same way.”

“So you admit having Wingy was better than when we sparkbonded!”

Drift rolled his optics and gave a sideways glance at Rodimus. “Yes, it was better than when we sparkbonded.”

Rodimus pumped his fist in the air. “Finally got you to admit to it!”

Ratchet looked tiredly between the two mechs, refusing to smile at their banter no matter how much he wanted to.

_ This is what you’ll have playdates with. I hope you’re prepared. _

…

_ I hope  _ I’m  _ prepared. _


	2. Chapter 2

Rung watched the medic putter about his medical bay, muttering to himself about how Wing was growing up to be exactly like her sire. It was amusing, watching the old and gravid mech step around as he cleaned up the aftermath while simultaneously grousing.

“-grabbing datapads out of my servos, and it took both of those two slaggers to keep her still while I ran diagnostics on her because she kept trying to grab my digits.”

The therapist leaned over the table that he was in front of. “She’s simply curious is all. Additionally, bear in processor that she is not even a stellar cycle old yet.”

“She wouldn’t listen to her own creators when they told her to keep still and stop grabbing my objects.”

“Ratchet, she is a sparkling.”

“She’s _Rodimus’s_ bitlet and by Primus she’s taking after him. He barely listens to Drift at times.”

Placing his elbow joints on the table, Rung intertwined his digits and placed his chin on them, looking at his bondmate from his place at the desk. “And you certainly listen to everything I say.”

The medic stalled in his tracks and sighed, turning to face him. “Fine. You made your point but I’m not happy about it.”

Internally smug, Rung made his way over to the other mech and wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s middle, smiling at how the bitlet was kicking excitedly, as she felt her sire nearby.

“Don’t encourage her, she’s got my pedes it looks like. Jabbing them everywhere, she’s about close to taking out my intakes.”

“And with the luck you seem to be having, she’ll have your aim.”

“Hmph, she doesn’t seem to have any aim with her pedes at least.” Ratchet drew back and looked down at the curve of his middle. “Just sticking them wherever they fraggin’ fit at some point.”

His mate, though cantankerous and clearly not having his best of his many days he’d lived, looked absolutely gorgeous. Rung gently took one of Ratchet’s servos in his. “It is getting close to emergence. I know First Aid ordered you to berth rest.”

“He can’t order me around as much as he thinks he can. I’m his fraggin’ superior.”

“Even if it’s for the sake of our sparkling?”

“Who are you kiddin’ Rung, you’re using your Primus-ly powers to make sure that the bitlet and I get through this unscathed. If you weren’t, I’m pretty damn sure I’d have had a premature emergence, or heighted energon pressure, broken pelvic struts, ruptured amniotic sac, some sort of mineral deficiency...”

After listing off that myriad of carrying complications, Ratchet paused, and Rung could see the train of thought coming to a stop in the medic’s processor. Ratchet cleared his vocalizer and then quietly said, “Or I think I probably would have offlined by now. With how old I am.”

Something like fear came over Rung’s spark at the thought of his beloved going offline. “I’ll give up my own spark before I let that happen to you.”

Ratchet stared at him and then gently whapped him upside the helm. “I think our bitlet needs both creators around.”

“She certainly will, but I believe the loss of her carrier may be more traumatic than the loss of her sire.”

“We’re not continuing this conversation. Also, frag me, my frame’s overheating.”

The therapist blinked his optics at the overt forwardness from his bondmate. He cleared his vocalizer and looked for a moment at the medical berth.

Clearly Ratchet knew what he was wondering, as the medic groused, “Not here!”

Oh. Oh yes, that made infinitely more sense.

.-.-.

Opening his optics, Ratchet adjusted their settings to the low light and blinked the covers over them as he did so. He sighed quietly and placed the back of his servo over his forehelm, grunting with the effort it took for him to sit up in berth.

The sparkling squirmed lightly and he prepared himself for kicks to his internals, but none came. She was in recharge for once while he had been as well, and it was then that he actually noted what it was that had woken him up - lack of flurried activity on her part. Part of his processor was overcome with worry, and even though he knew for a fact that she was alright and that there was no way her sire would let anything happen to her, he reached out along their creator-creation bond.

She responded with vague awareness, more sleepy than she was interested in responding to him. Nonetheless the response soothed his spark.

Ratchet turned his helm and gazed at the smaller form that was in berth next to him, smiling slightly at the little form of Rung nestled into his side. The other mech had had an arm slung over the prominent mound of the medic’s middle, but with the movement, it had slid off and said arm was draped over Ratchet’s thighs - all without waking Rung.

The medic needed to get up and sit down at his desk, so he gingerly grabbed the therapist-god’s arm and tucked it beside him, pausing and putting all of his strength into getting off the berth.

She wasn’t so big, but his abdominal plating had shifted and expanded enough that it gave him a lot of trouble getting up and out of the berth. Even standing from a chair required assistance.

His hips ached and he felt a faint wave of pain as he stood up, undoubtedly from the shenanigans they’d partaken in before recharging. He chuckled and shook his helm as he slowly stepped over to his desk and drew out his medical reports that still needed further cleanup before he could enter them into the system so he and First Aid could have access.

Suddenly the sparkling kicked at him. Sighing, he placed a servo to his side. “No movement while I was sleeping, then you wake up right as I do. How am I going to focus on anything when you’re here and crying or kicking your sire and I?”

She simply responded with another kick.

At that moment he felt another wave of pain that was slightly more intense this time, and he noted in this instance that it lasted a little bit longer. A thought occurred in his processor and he stopped, his digits on his other servo letting go of the datapad containing the results of Wing’s checkup.

It couldn’t be. It would be okay if it were, but he found his processor not wanting it to be happening.

Ratchet set his systems to scan his running processes. When the results of the scan came back to him and displayed in his visual field, he felt his spark clench on itself in fear.

“Rung?”

There was a sleepy mumble from the berth, but then nothing more.

“Rung, get up fraggit, we have to go to the medical bay. She’s coming.”

It took another moment, but before Ratchet could react, Rung was up and awake, his optics bright and online and his servo scrabbling around for his lenses. The scene made Ratchet laugh a little bit before Rung bolted over to him and helped him out of his seat.

.-.-.

_“First Aid, I’m your supervisor and I’m going to be pushing this bitlet out myself.”_

_“Well no slag, you’re the one carrying the sparkling, but I’m not letting you do this by yourself and it’s final.”_

_“Tell me that it’s final ever again and I’ll throw a wrench at you.”_

_“Rung, back me up here and talk some sense into your conjunx.”_

_“My love, we are coming into the medical bay when it is time.”_

_“Oh for frag’s sake, some fraggin’ god you are.”_

Even as his systems told him he was almost completely dilated, Ratchet huffed and glared at the ceiling. No way to do this by himself. And there was very little pain - no doubt Rung having some sort of godly effect on him, making the whole process a little easier for his old frame.

If this had been any other mech that had sired this bitlet on him, he knew he would be in so much more pain, and quite frankly with his advanced age, the sparkling may not have lived this far. Or he might not have. Then again, if it had been any other mech, he would not have gotten sparked in the first place.

“Ratchet,” a soft voice said, breaking through his fugue state of mind. He sighed and turned his helm to look at Rung, he other mech staring at him with dimmed optics. “How are you feeling at this moment?”

How was he feeling? He was feeling some pain. There was some anxiety mixed in there that he wouldn’t admit to - and frankly Rung could probably sniff it out already. “Fine.”

“I know you’re lying.”

“Of course you do.”

First Aid came in, and Ratchet noticed a little bit of a bounce in his bustling and steps. This was not the first time he’d helped in a sparkling’s emergence, but it would be the first time he’d be doing this without Ratchet at his backplates, telling him how to do it all.

“You’re almost ready to start pushing.”

“I know that,” the medic snapped, more out frustration with the slow pace than at First Aid. “She’s pressing against my Primus forsaken valve and I’m ready to get her the frag out.”

To his side, Ratchet could tell that Rung was getting some sort of amusement from the entire spectacle. He turned to look at the mech and hissed, “Shut up.”

“Come on,” First Aid said, parting his legs and situating the head medic’s pedes in stirrups. “I’ll tell you when to start.”

“I think I know-”

“If you really knew you would know to start now,” First Aid retorted with a little twinkle in his optics. “You’re at one hundred percent.”

He refused to let it show, but his processor and spark were overwhelmed with the situation. Here he was, a position he never thought he would be in. At the end of this, a sparkling. He grit himself and closed his optics, pushing with all the strength he had.

A smaller servo worked its way into one of his, and in between pushes Ratchet reopened his optics and turned his helm again to look at Rung. The therapist had taken his lenses off and was staring at him, smiling at him like he was the most precious and perfect creature in all of creation, as if this were his first time actually seeing him. Ratchet returned the smile, which he knew in the back of his mind was probably lopsided.

“You’re the most beautiful mech I know.”

Ratchet laughed and then bore down again for a solid klik, before heaving a loud sigh as he rested. “You’re flattering me.”

“I am not, and you know that very well.”

The contraction came back and Ratchet gasped as he nearly yanked Rung’s arm out of its socket and pushed again. From within he felt the sparkling squirming as she descended, and faintly he heard First Aid’s voice coaching him along. “Pushpushpushpush, you’re doing awesome, keep pushing.”

“Oh shush it, I’m still your supervisor,” Ratchet grunted out as he bore down with all the strength he had left in his cables.

“Yes, I want to make sure my superior and his sparkling survive this. Now keep pushing.”

Ratchet gasped and then bore down again, clutching to Rung’s servo like it was his lifeline. The therapist, to his credit, made no noise or expressed any displeasure at any pain that Ratchet may have been inflicting on him. The medic had closed his optics again and gave a soft cry as he stopped to rest, and then he felt gentle lipplates on the side of his helm.

“You’re doing fantastic. I love you.”

It was then that Ratchet broke whatever was left of his composure and let fluid fall down his faceplates, his vocalizer choking up. “I don’t know if I can do this, Rung,” he said quietly.

The therapist stroked the top of his helm and then kissed him again. “I know you will be able to. We will both be doing this together. And there’s no other mech or femme I would have done this with other than you.”

He wanted to snort derisively and tell Rung that of all mechs and femmes, he had to choose the atheist, but then he needed to push again. Upon doing so, he felt First Aid’s digits at the rim of his valve, which was currently swollen around the top of the bitlet’s helm.

Oh.

He was sure it had to hurt a lot more than this. He wanted to tell Rung to knock it off, but the overall lack of screaming-yelling-punching-throwingthingseverywhere pain was quite nice.

“Get her shoulder struts out for me,” First Aid piped up cheerily, and Ratchet swore that he could probably see a little excited wiggle in the younger medic’s frame. “I can help her the rest of the way out.”

The medic did just that, grunting with each push of his abdominal cables on the sparkling, helping guide her out of his frame.

_C’mon bitlet. Your sire and I want to see you. And I want you out._

There was an intense sensation of pressure against his valve, something wider than the width of the bitlet’s helm, but First Aid reached in and helped dislodge what Ratchet belatedly realized were the sparkling’s shoulder struts. He drew back, and Ratchet let out a startled gasp when the last of the bitlet made out of his frame, suddenly feeling relief and a sense of emptiness after the past stellar cycle of carriage.

First Aid lifted the sparkling into the air, cradling her gently in his arms with the corners of his optics crinkled as if smiling broadly, and Ratchet’s intakes hitched at the sight. There she was, the improbable sparkling conceived by inert mechs, a god and one that staunchly doubted his existence.

A miracle.

A miracle that for all the universe looked just like Rung.

She stirred to life in the other medic’s servos, faceplates twitching, engine onlining, and let out an audio-splitting wail at the same time Rung let out a choked sob.

“Oh,” Ratchet breathed out in awe as the crying newspark was placed on his chassis, wrapping one arm around her while taking the cleaning sheet that First Aid offered to him and cleaning the fluids off of her face as gently as he could, cooing to her as he did so. Her cries calmed after a few more moments, and she burbled and opened her optics.

And oh how she was so beautiful, her visage melting the remnants of his pain away.

“There you are,” the medic said softly, smiling at her, feeling fluid collect at the edges of his optics as his spark pulsed rapidly. “Was always afraid you wouldn't make it, but,” he paused as Rung’s frame came into view, the therapist/god of all creation kissing her helm so tenderly, fluid brimming at the corners of his optics, “I don’t think your sire would’ve allowed that.”

The sparkling squeaked at the kiss and awkwardly moved her helm to gaze at whomever it was that had kissed her, and her optics brightened and she warbled at her sire.

A new god, meeting an old god.

Were Ratchet not exhausted from the entire ordeal of giving birth, he would have poked fun at the tears streaming down Rung’s faceplates, all while pretending that there were none running down his own face as well. He cupped the bitlet’s helm and kissed the chevron on her forehelm, stroking his digits along her side as she burbled and beeped at him.

“I’m going to feel the pain you put me through later on, aren’t I?” he asked her, hypothetical question that he of course expected no answer to. He was on such a high that felt like he were floating, and nothing was there other than his chosen mate and the sparkling they’d created. The bitlet squeaked at him, almost as if she were trying to answer.

Rung took his face into his servos and kissed him deeply, and Ratchet smiled and returned the kiss with equal fervor, vaguely aware of First Aid cleaning him up.

“I did not know it was possible,” the orange-plated god said with the softest expression on his faceplates, his optics dim and gentle smile on his faceplates, “but I love you so much more than I thought I possibly could. You are incredible, intelligent, and you are so beautiful. You will be a wonderful carrier."

For once, Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to accuse Rung of flattering him. He closed his optics and nuzzled the bitlet’s helm with the side of his own helm, sighing in a mixture of relief-exhaustion-happiness as she burbled and squeaked, her little arms reaching out to him.

“And you,” Rung said softly, laying his helm on the closest of Ratchet’s shoulder struts and taking the nearest of the little bitlet’s hands into one of his. “Our precious sparkling. You’ve no idea how much you are loved.”

The bitlet blinked and chirped softly, her wide blue optics growing sleepy and dimming.

.-.-.

“I’ve heard from all of my patients that have gone through emergence that it was the most painful thing they’d ever done in their life cycles, followed by the biggest moment of joy.”

Curse Rung and the way he looked at him, curse him and how thoughtful and caring he was, Ratchet thought to himself. “And do you not feel joy looking at her?”

Ratchet looked at the tiny bitlet - Proxima, they’d decided - curled up on his chassis, watching as she sleepily drank her fill from his feeding lines. “Of course I do, you slagger. But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I kind of wanted all the pain and screaming that came with emergence.”

Rung steepled his thin digits together and gave him a look through his goggles before he untwined his fingers and then moved the lenses from his faceplates. “I believe you may have just wanted the pain so you could curse Primus - ie, myself.”

Ugh. There it was again. Living, loving proof that his entire belief system was in shambles. And that grin - sometimes Ratchet really wanted to make Rung slack it off.

Ratchet sighed and shifted the little femme’s position in his arms. “I love you, but you’re also a slagger.”

That had been aimed at Rung, but the expression on the bitlet’s face changed as she stared up at him, and in his spark he _knew_ that she thought it was aimed at her.

“Not you, bit,” he said softly, kissing her helm. “You’re perfect.”

Proxima warbled quietly at him and curled into his chassis, her little engine purring contentedly. Ratchet thought that it should be illegal for a demigod to be this adorable, and the stupid emotion called joy bounced around in his processor and spark.

“May I?” Rung asked, holding an arm out.

Ratchet looked at his mate, smiled, and then handed Proxima over. “Don’t ask, slagger. Just tell me. She’s yours too.”

Rung chuckled as he secured the bitlet in his arms and looked at her. She blinked her wide blue optics up at him, chirping softly.

The medic laid back against the cushions and sighed quietly, watching both sparkling and her sire. He cooed down at her, his optics filled with… something like joy, but far beyond it. It was something that Ratchet knew as well, and he knew for certain that this emotion beyond joy would probably never be able to be articulated.

“Dare I say,” Rung said quietly, stroking the little femme’s faceplates with one of his gentle servos, “of everything I suppose I’ve created, you are the most perfect creation of them all.”

Proxima kneaded the thermal sheet with her small servos and chirped at her sire, her optics bright and blue and very happy.

.-.-.

Ratchet had a lot to learn about being a creator. There were datapads and files on how to embark on the endeavour while keeping your sanity.

Though there were, sadly, none about how to be a proper creator to a goddess. Proxima was… too well behaved at times. And Ratchet knew well that if he complained about it, that no one would take him seriously, because why in the name of his bondmate would anyone complain about their sparkling behaving?

“Stop it.”

Rung’s optics stared up at him, genuine confusion in them. “What? What do you want me to stop doing?”

“She’s just there laying in your lap, looking at the datapad you’re looking at, making the exact same expressions you are. If it weren’t for the fragging helm crest, the shoulders, and the servos, I’d say you cloned yourself and put that clone in me to carry.”

“That’s an impossibility,” Rung said lightly as he put the datapad aside and leaned over and kissed the top of Proxima’s helm, prompting a cheery beep, “and you know it very well.”

“You turned out to be Primus. My life is already slagged enough.” Ratchet leaned over and picked the decacycle-old sparkling into his arms, holding her gently and kissing her helm as well. “C’mon. We got a ship’s captain and his bondmate to show you off to.”

Proxima chirred and snuggled into her carrier’s chassis.

Ratchet and Rung made their way to one of the common areas on the ship, finding Rodimus and Drift as they’d arranged. Drift was busy playing peek-a-boo with Wing. It was not easy to tell who was squealing the loudest.

Wing noticed the newly arrived bots and turned her helm, fixing her gaze on the small bundle of thermal sheet that was in Ratchet’s arms. Proxima, apparently sensing another young spark nearby, wriggled and turned to try and find said young spark. Their optics met, and then the common room was filled with a duet of chirps and warbles and beeps.

Ratchet already felt a processor ache coming on from both bitlets.

Rodimus swooped in, nearly bouncing up and down on his pedes, energy constrained. His optics were bright and happy as he looked at the little bitlet that was commanding his own daughter’s attention.

“Oh she’s so cute! Drift get over here, meet the new goddess that you get to worship!”

Drift hoisted Wing into his arms and walked over, standing next to his bondmate, smiling at the bitlet who was now reaching her arms out and papping Wing on her face. Wing, in return, chirped and reached her own servos out, papping them all over the other bitlet’s faceplates. “What’s her designation?”

“Proxima. And please don’t start worshipping her right here, I know you too well.”

Proxima chirped and shifted her attention to Drift, optics going wide. She reached a servo out and warbled, giggling when Drift adjusted his grip on Wing and gave Proxima a digit to hold onto. A moment later, the swordsmech smiled and Ratchet saw little bits of fluid gathering at the corners of his optics. How he wanted to poke fun at him, but he settled for gruffly shaking his helm.

“Was it the best moment of your life cycle?”

Ratchet looked at Drift, watching the swordsmech gently let Wing down so she pressed herself against his legs. After a moment, he gave a small smile, and then nodded. “Yeah, it was… wow.” He thought back to the first glimpse of her spark in his frame, the first time he felt her move, the first time that he and Rung saw her beautiful visage, and his spark warmed. “Still sometimes can’t believe she’s here.”

At his side, Rung was busy now entertaining Proxima, covering his optics with one servo and then removing them, trying to see if it would elicit a reaction from the bitlet.

“She’s too happy and cute to be both of yours,” Rodimus piped up, smiling broadly. “Especially you Ratch, how in the Pit did you give birth to that ball of sunshine?”

A loud _thwack_ echoed in the common room, startling everyone with how sudden it had been. Rodimus was rubbing the top of his helm, confused. Ratchet could see a small scrape where Rodimus had his servo.

Wing chirped loudly and toddled over from where she’d been next to Drift’s legs to somewhere a short distance from her sire, where she leaned over and picked up-

No.

No it couldn’t be.

Ratchet watched, optics wide in shock, as the other sparkling picked up what was obviously a miniature Matrix by one of its handles. He looked down at Proxima, watching how she glared intently at Rodimus. A moment later, she gave a sharp chirp of indignation.

“Did she just-” Rodimus began, voice slightly high due to incredulity, but Rung interrupted him by making a loud, delighted noise.

“Oh I was wondering if you had inherited that ability from me, and you did! You got that from me! I’m no longer the only one.”

Proxima’s demeanor changed and she chirped happily at her sire, wiggling excitedly as he took her into his arms and snuggling up to him. Part of Ratchet wanted to grouse at his bondmate and tell him to stop encouraging her, but the other half was so happy at her reaction that he couldn’t get it in himself to get upset. He smiled at them. “She’s got perfect aim too.”

He heard Wing chirp almost approvingly, heard Drift laugh and Rodimus whine about how mean everyone was being.

.-.-.

Proxima waited for the in-vent and ex-vent cycles of her creators to even out before she fixed her gaze on the vent above her little berth. She clambered her way out of her berth and climbed up the shelves that were affixed to the wall before worming her way up, hauling her precious cargo.

It was a long journey, but after looking through multiple vents, she found the one she’d been looking for. Bright blue optics stared up at her, the other sparkling waiting rather impatiently and chirping quietly. Proxima tapped at the grille of the vent and then watched as the other sparkling climbed up to the vent and undid the fasteners. When the vent swung down, other sparkling gave a triumphant beep and then handed the shiny emblem to her. After taking it into her servos, Proxima handed her own cargo to other sparkling, watching her chirp happily and wrap her arms around it.

Both sparklings beeped to each other, and then other sparkling fixed the vent back into place and Proxima took off, looking for her own open vent that led into her little berthroom.

She descended to the first shelf, put the fasteners back on the vent, and then climbed down the rest of them, holding her precious emblem to her chassis. She snuggled back into her berth with her thermal sheets, chirping quietly.

.-.-.

“Rung, why does Proxima have a Rodimus Star with her?”

.-.-.

“Uh, Drift… why does Wing have a Matrix in her berth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day Drift and Rodimus will find Wing happily buried in a pile of miniature Matrices, and Ratchet and Rung will stumble upon Proxima's stash of Rodimus Stars.
> 
> To those that stayed to the end, I'm very glad you did so, and I hope you enjoyed this purely self-indulgent fluff!


End file.
